The Easy Way Out

45

Blake's jaw hung open at the bottom of a face that looked like it had softened into a lumpy dough.

"It's in his trunk," she whispered. "Babe, you gotta go get our money before he comes back."

He pushed himself into a seated position on the bed. "You stashed the money in his trunk? And just left?"

"Shhhhhhh!" She covered his mouth with her palm, her eyes bulging with urgency. "When he gets to where he's going, he's gonna realize he lost his car keys. He'll probably call the airport. Or somebody else. You gotta get there before somebody comes for that car."

"Me?"

"I can't go back there. The cops saw me. By now probably every cop in a ten-mile radius has a description."

With his brain in a knot, he took a moment to compose himself. Then, testing her, he drew Rachel close. "Let's just leave it. Get out of here now while we have the chance."

"We can't. Not now. Not after all this."

It broke his heart. It's exactly what he predicted she'd say.

She leaned across the bed, reached into her purse, then produced the BMW key fob. "All you gotta do is walk into that garage, pop the trunk, and walk away with the bag. That's it."

"Easiest thing in the world," he murmured.

She ignored his ironic remark and deflected. "Once we get that money we'll disappear. Someplace where they'll never find us. Just you and me, Babe. Just the two of us." She nuzzled against him.

Blake clenched his eyes closed, his chest aching with crushing grief.

########

The sun had scarcely begun climbing over the horizon when Blake rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep anyway. He was stiff, sore. Everything hurt. Throughout the night, deeply troubling thoughts plagued him. He played the past three months over and over again in his mind, digesting the bleaker truths about their relationship. There were signs along the way but he'd been distracted and naive. He acknowledged that he was less of a person than he was before he met her.

He steadied himself with a palm against the paneled wall before venturing to the shower to rinse the taste of dried blood from his mouth. He glanced toward the bed where Rachel slept like a baby without interruption from a troubled mind. Her back slowly rose and fell with each quiet breath.

On his way into the bathroom, the floor tipped and slid beneath his bare feet. He gripped the edge of the sink until his equilibrium was restored. He chose not to look in the mirror.

The chrome handles squeaked when he turned on the water in the shower. Once he accepted the fact that the water pressure from the showerhead had the same flow rate as an old man with an enlarged prostate, he stepped into the mint green plastic tub. As the warm water drizzled down his body he heard the toilet seat rise followed by Rachel's voice. "No worries, Babe. I'm not gonna flush."

Given the limited supply of hot water, he showered quickly. He stepped out of the tub surprised to find her at the mirror, adjusting the wig on her head. He watched, toweling his bruised body.

As she combed out the tangles, she said cheerfully, "You want me to walk down to the office for coffee and maybe stale donuts?"

"We'll grab something on the way," he replied.

"'Kay. I'll call a cab."

He wrapped the paper-thin towel around his waist and shuffled into the bedroom. He gathered up his clothes from the floor and dropped heavily onto the bed.